If Walls Could Talk
by xSyntheticSensation
Summary: Dramione One-Shot. Half-Blood Prince.


_"Tell me, Draco, where you currently stand with the task I have appointed you?"_

_Shuddering at the way the high-pitched voice said his name, Draco slowly brought his shaky gaze up to the man standing in front of him. His long, bony fingers held his wand in one hand, the other stroking the serpent now settled on his shoulders. Red slits for eyes with feline-like pupils bore through him, demanding an answer._

_"I- I am nearly there, My Lord," stammered Draco, quickly averting his gaze back to his feet, terrified of the response he might receive. _

_"Ah, good, Draco," said Voldemort, although Draco hardly relaxed at the sound of his approving tone. "It shall be ready soon, I presume?"_

_Still staring at his feet, Draco's silver eyes darted sideways toward where his mother was standing, still as ever, apprehensively watching the scene in front of her. She nodded her head ever so slightly, though the Dark Lord was watching Draco ever so intently he hardly would've noticed. _

_"Yes."_

Bolting upright and breathing heavily, Draco Malfoy looked around the room, panicked, before realizing that he was safe in his prefect's dormitory. There was no cold, high voice nor a man that did not seem quite human standing in front of him. He breathed a sigh of relief, then realized he was covered in sweat, no doubt due to the nightmares he had been having all year, all involving the same man and the same, red slits.

His breath finally regaining a normal pace, Draco swung his legs out of his bed and put his head in his hands, thoughts racing as he contemplated the task in front of him, as he did so often. Glancing at the clock, he barely took notice of the time as he heaved himself up and grabbed his towel, shutting the door behind him.

She lay awake staring at the ceiling of her dormitory. It was well past 2 in the morning, yet sleep was the last thing she could have been doing. Her thoughts kept her up every night, and even with no roommates, she found herself quite unable to fall asleep.

Her mind trailed to the unpleasant sight of Ron and Lavender, locked in what appeared to be a very aggressive battle to see who could suck the lips off the other's face faster. Her heart gave a dreadful lurch as she tried to push away the image, but it only got worse as her mind travelled to Harry's accusations of Draco Malfoy becoming a Death Eater. In her heart, she knew what he was saying was definitely plausible, but she refused to believe it. Although he had never been anything but cruel to her, she knew that he was not what he was being pressured into being.

She was not sure why this bothered her so much; it was not as if Draco would give a second thought if she were to drop dead at this very moment. She was a Mudblood, and he a Pureblood; he thought the ground she walked on was like the Draught of the Living Dead. Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to her, she still could not shake the fact that she _knew_ he was not a bad person.

It was with these thoughts swimming in her head that she got up and headed for the shower.

It was only once he had reached the corridors that Draco realized how late it actually was and how uncomfortable it was to be walking through his school in nothing but his boxers, despite it being deserted. But he pushed on, bright moonlight spilling through the windows and leaking onto the floor to light his way as he made his way to the prefect's bathroom.

Once he reached the painting of the four wizards playing cards, he found that it was already slightly open. Curious as to why the painting did not shut itself completely, he opened it and climbed through the hole in the wall into the handsome bathroom that stood before him, complete with the enormous bathtub with taps of every different shape and color, as well as exotic paintings of beaches and mermaids. It was not until he closed the portrait behind him that he realized his final destination was already occupied.

He had always read about one's 'jaw dropping in shock' in books, but he had always thought it was just a figure of speech. He learned otherwise, however, as his mouth fell open and he gaped at the sight in front of him.

She was standing in the open marble shower that simply had two conjoining walls and a tiled floor, eyes closed, letting the water run over her body, steam rising in the air. Draco's eyes followed the drizzling water over her hair that was plastered to her neck and bare back, down past her buttocks and the area where they met her thighs, and over her surprisingly well-toned legs. Her skin was slightly more olive than usual, the heat from the water causing the blood to flow throughout her body and seemed to go directly to her cheeks, where an attractive pink flush gathered.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he had dropped his towel in astonishment, and that the subject of his gaze had turned, horrified, at the sound. They stared at each other for a few moments, he still in shock and she absolutely mortified, when he also realized the pulse between his thighs. Allowing this carnal temptation to take over and somehow ignoring the shouting prejudices in his head, he stepped forward onto the tiled floor and stood in front of her, the water running over his body, his face inches from hers. He stared at her, his eyes roaming down her front and over her shapely chest that he had criticized himself for dwelling on in classes. His silver eyes flickered up to meet her honeys, then down to her lips that looked so pink and tempting. Then, with one last conscious prayer to Salazar, his lips crashed forward into hers.

It was like someone had slowed time as his breathing seemed to stop as he took in her sweet taste and the feel of her hair between his fingers. It was only when he heard her whimper that he was brought slightly back to the present, encouraged by what he took as permission to continue. His free hand ventured down her torso and past the curve of her buttocks before returning to the bosom he had so shamefully reflected on when he was feeling aroused.

And so the minutes passed, with her quiet moans and his low growls, as they forgot their prejudice and place in the outside world, their insecurities and worries slipping away from them for time being. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped back and picked up his sopping wet boxers that lay on the floor of the shower. Casting a drying spell, he silently slipped them back on and picked up his towel and made to leave, but not before turning to her and saying, "Not a word."

The Hogwarts castle was the only one who ever knew of the secret affairs between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.


End file.
